


Christmas Winchester Style

by weesta



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Holidays, Schmoop, Season/Series 01, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 03:18:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2757596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weesta/pseuds/weesta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Season 1) Back together after years apart, the Winchesters get some perspective on each other in the days leading up to Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Winchester Style

Sam Winchester stepped out of the shower and instantly realized something was wrong. Not wrong like dangerous, but off. He hastily wrapped a towel around his waist and stood frozen in the steam filled bathroom. He extended his senses and tried to put his finger on what was bothering him. It took only a moment to figure out – Dean was singing.

Sam’s eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline. Dean was singing? It took Sam a minute to wrap his mind around what he was hearing, and even then he didn’t quite believe it

This time of year was pretty slow for hunting. Demons and the like didn’t necessarily follow the calendar, but there was a power to this time of year. The weeks leading up to Christmas were notoriously slow, but on New Year’s there was always something happening. The turning of the year always opened up a window between worlds, and they had headed up to Michigan to head off a particularly nasty demon that liked to stalk and dismember innocents on New Year’s to give it a power boost to carry it through the rest of the year. But New Year’s Eve was a week off, and they were biding their time in nicely appointed motel; taking inventory, restocking and doing some serious weapon maintenance. 

The only real down side to taking a break this time of year was the music. No matter where they traveled around the country, radio stations of every format had changed over to all Christmas music. In the car it didn’t matter so much – Dean just popped in one of his cassettes and they rolled. But in the motel it was more difficult. Even if there was a station that hadn’t gone over to the all Christmas format, the reception sucked and they were stuck with whatever they could tune it. It didn’t bother Sam at all, but the more he traveled with Dean the more he realized that Dean could just not tolerate silence. He could deal with not talking, but he always had to have some kind of background static. Sam didn’t get it, but they all had their quirks.

Dean had unpacked most of the contents of his trunk and scattered everything around the room. To anyone else it would’ve looked like a mess, but Sam knew that Dean knew the position of every weapon down to the last silver bullet. Sam also knew that when Dean got started on a project like this he liked to work alone, at least in the beginning. Everything had to be placed just so; everything had to be organized to his complete satisfaction. In that way he was disturbingly like Dad. Only when he was totally ready would he let Sam help, and that usually involved pointing and saying “clean that one Sammy.”

So, in an effort to give Dean some space, Sam jumped into the shower. Right before Sam had closed the bathroom door Dean had flipped on the radio, and Tran-Siberian Orchestra’s “Christmas Eve Sarajevo” was playing. That was right up Dean’s alley, so he left it on. But clearly enough time had passed so the song was over, and Dean was either too far away from the radio or too engrossed to change the station. 

Sam cracked the bathroom door slightly so he could see into the room and hear a little better. There was Dean, totally focused on the shotgun laid out in his lap, sitting at the small motel table singing right along with Nat King Cole’s “Christmas Song”. Sam drew back from the door silently, but left it open. He was stunned. He didn’t think he could remember a time in his life that he’d heard Dean sing like that. Oh, they’d sung the occasional travel song in the car like “1,000 Bottles of Beer on the Wall” until Dad was ready to kill them; but those songs were sung at the top of their lungs and needed no finesse at all.

The song changed again to “White Christmas” – Dean didn’t miss a beat, he joined right in. It made Sam smile to hear Dean sing to such an old-fashioned song; he had a good voice for it. Sam couldn’t carry a tune if it was handed to him on a plate, so this revelation of his brother’s unknown talent was amazing to him. But it made him sad too. Sam knew without a shadow of a doubt, that if Dad were here with them, Dean would never be singing. When Dad was around Dean was always on the job; he did everything Dad ever wanted, and he was always read to do more. 

Sam got dressed silently; he didn’t want to make any noise that would disrupt Dean’s focus. He wanted to listen for as long as he could. He sat on the edge of the tub and listened to Dean croon “Silver Bells” and “Jingle Bell Rock”. Dean’s rendition of “O Holy Night” actually gave Sam chills. But the next song was “No Place Like Home for the Holidays”. Dean sang along at first, but it seemed to Sam that when he started to listen to the lyrics as he was singing, something got to him. Sam realized with a pang of grief that the concert was over. Dean cleared his throat and Sam could hear something clatter onto the table.

“Didja fall in, Sam?” Dean called from the outer room.

Sam opened the door to the bathroom wide and exited carrying his shoes and used towels. “Nah, just grabbing a few things.”

Sam surveyed the cluttered room. “Where do you want me to start?”

Dean pointed to his bed where a collection of knives was strewn. “Check the knives. Clean and sharpen. You know the drill.”

Sam just nodded and got to work. The strains of “Silent Night” filled their silent room and they were back to business as usual.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean fought his way through the crowd of people wondering for the tenth time how Sam talked him into this. All of the weapons has been cleaned and stored to Dean's satisfaction. They still had some shopping to do at some local munitions shops for supplies, and Dean wanted to touch base with one of Dad's contacts in the area, but other than that they were ready to go – and the job was a week away. Dean was all for hunting down some local legend; between the displaced native people and the sailors lost in the icy waters of Lake Michigan there was bound to be something to hunt down. But not tonight. Tonight Sam had convinced him to go out for a walk into town.

However, much to his brother's chagrin, Sam had neglected to mention the "Holiday in the Village" activities culminating in the Christmas Eve parade where all the locals gathered to wish Santa good luck on his one-night, globe-trotting adventure. If he didn't have a cup of coffee in each hand, Dean would gladly throttle his little brother. If he could make his way back to where he'd left him.

The crowd was packed on both sides of the street. In spite of the frigid temperatures and biting wind, it looked like all of the local residents of the town of South Haven had come out to get a glimpse of Santa. Bundled in parkas, scarves and hats, the crowd "oohed" and "aahed" at each float and local celebrity. How the cheerleading squad made it all the way down the parade route without suffering severe frostbite or hypothermia was beyond Dean. All he knew was that he was freezing and he was wearing way more clothing than they were.

Taking his eyes off the jailbait cheerleaders, Dean scanned the crowd of people across the street for Sam. The youngest Winchester was fairly easy to spot in a crowd; he usually stood at least a head above the people around him. Just as Dean caught Sam's eye a collective rumble of anticipation rushed through the mass collected on both sides of the street. The sound of applause grew in a deafening wave. A quick glance up the street confirmed that the man in red was on his way. There was no way Dean would be able to fight through the crowd and get across the street before Santa arrived.  
With a malicious grin, Dean shrugged his shoulders and with a look indicated that he'd be staying where he was and drinking both cups of coffee in his possession. Sam gave him the "you've got to be kidding me" face. Dean just smirked – payback was a bitch. Sam shook his head and turned to look at the oncoming sled, pointedly ignoring Dean. Dean chuckled and took a deep gulp of the wonderfully pungent coffee.

A disruption in the crowd near Sam got Dean's attention. He was poised in an instant, ready to run across the street in case Sam needed backup. But Sam's body language didn't indicate that he was distressed or in trouble. Rather, Sam leaned over to talk to the woman standing next to him. The woman had her arms full with a little girl - at least Dean assumed it was a girl; it was probably unlikely that the woman would dress a boy in the shockingly bright pink parka that the child in her arms was wearing.

Sam leaned down again, telling the woman something. But this time, he stayed bent over and seemed to be waiting for some kind of answer. The woman seemed to be looking for something in his face. Dean strained trying to make out the conversation, but with the noise of the crowd, he just couldn't make it out. Then, the woman nodded at Sam who straightened up. Immediately he bent back down and lifted a small, blue clad figure over his head and onto his shoulders. Dean relaxed; all of that was just Sammy offering to pick up the lady's other kid since she had her hands full.

The boy, once he got over his surprise at his suddenly improved view, lit up at his new vantage point. Dean could actually read the kid's lips when he dropped his hands onto Sammy's head and exclaimed, "You're tall!" Sam just grinned and took a firm grip on the boy's legs; the kid was so excited he was liable to launch himself off of Sam's shoulders. Dean was fascinated by the tableau because the grin never left Sam's face. Everyone else in the crowd was looking at Santa, but all that Dean could see was Sam.

It struck Dean like a fist to the gut how right it seemed for Sam to be watching a Christmas parade with a family. Even if he wasn't the dad, he could definitely be the uncle. It was so normal, and he was really enjoying himself. He was laughing and waving just like everyone else. And when the boy sitting on his shoulders hugged Sam's face so he could lean over and say something into his ear without falling off, Sam automatically turned toward the boy while keeping him anchored; like he knew what to do. It made Dean wonder if Jess had had any nieces or nephews that Sam played with at family gatherings. Together they both looked up and waved frantically at Santa. When Santa waved back, both the boy and Sam bounced with glee. Even the mom bounced the little girl in her arms until she shrieked with laughter as well.

Suddenly it wasn't the wind that was making Dean feel cold. He felt empty and lost, but not on his own behalf – for Sam. Dean had very few memories of what Christmas had been like before and he clung to them like a drowning man clings to a chunk of driftwood. Sam never had any Christmas memories that included Mom – he didn't have any memories that included Mom; maybe that was why he chased "normal" so hard. It grieved Dean to know that Sam's joy in the holiday came from time spent with random strangers on the sidewalk and not with family.

As Santa moved down the street the buzz of the crowd followed him. Now that the main attraction had passed, no one was willing to stand in the cold for one second more. Seasoned locals quickly dispersed to their homes or one of the restaurants that had stayed open late for the special occasion. Dean watched as Sam flipped the little boy off of his shoulders. The boy was so excited he immediately raised his arms to Sam and demanded to do it again. Sam smiled apologetically at the mom for getting her son so riled up. She shook her head, and though Dean couldn't hear her it was clear she was thanking Sam for helping her out. Sam tried to smile and shrug it off, but Dean could tell how happy he was to be part of their little group, even for just a little while. With the mom urging the son to go, he gave Sam one last hug around the knees. Sam kind of patted him on the top of his parka and made his way across the street to where Dean was standing.

"Please tell me you didn't drink all of the coffee." Sam pleaded. Wordlessly Dean handed the full cup to Sam. Sam cupped it gratefully in his cold hands before taking a drink. Then Sam gave Dean a sidelong glance as though trying to judge his reaction to the evening. "Have I tortured you enough for one night?"

"You have tortured me enough for a lifetime!" Dean retorted. "Please Sam! Elves…reindeer…"

"Cheerleaders…." Sam tossed back.

Dean grinned and started walking. Sam fell into step beside him. "Now if they were college cheerleaders, then I might have been more interested…"

"Sam! Bye Sam! Bye Sam!" a young voice repeated insistently. Over to their left the family Sam had helped out was piling into their car. But while the mom was busy getting the little girl into her car seat, the boy was frantically trying to get Sam's attention.

Sam held his hand up in a wave, and then pointed to the car. "Brian, it's too cold, dude! Get in the car! Listen to your mom!"

"Okay! Bye Sam!"

"Bye Brian!"

Though they kept walking, Sam's eyes lingered on the minivan until it pulled out of its spot into traffic.

"Nice family." said Dean.

"Yeah." Sam agreed.

"That's why we do what we do." Dean stated softly unusually serious.

Sam shook his head. "Yeah." He looked at Dean and caught his eye. He nodded again needing no words.

It was about as close to a chick-flick moment as Dean wanted to get. A gust of wind motivated Dean into action. "C'mon! Let's get back to the motel before we both freeze to death." Then picking up the pace - and it was hard to set a faster pace than Sam because of his damn long legs - Dean headed back to the motel whistling random bits of Christmas songs that for some reason were stuck in his head.

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this WAY back in the day. My head cannon has Sam as an auditory learner - that's why his new POV on Dean is all auditory. Dean's a visual learner - that's why his POV on Sam is all visual.


End file.
